


Never idle

by Espisayer



Series: Idleness and Ignorance [1]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bad Flirting, Drinking, It's not a date but it's a date, M/M, Making Out, Post-Canon, Unresolved Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:40:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28097049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Espisayer/pseuds/Espisayer
Summary: If Jounouchi ever asked, why, why everything, he wasn’t sure what he would have to say.It was another impulse. A series of impulses. You didn’t need to think about impulses.The alcohol was a good choice. Even in hindsight.
Relationships: Jounouchi Katsuya | Joey Wheeler/Kaiba Seto
Series: Idleness and Ignorance [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2195730
Comments: 7
Kudos: 18





	Never idle

“So, I looked it up,” Mokuba flopped into his seat with all the casual demeanor of any 16-year-old who wasn’t part-time vice president of an international gaming technology company, slinging off his private school jacket and whipping out his phone while Seto drew up the partition from the driver, “and they were down to the semi-finals this morning. So this is it. Too bad we missed most of it.” He glanced at Seto. “I can’t believe Anzu waited this long to tell you.”

He shrugged, idly tapping his knee. “She probably didn’t think I would go.” Which was technically true.

What his brother didn’t need to know was that Mazaki had made him well aware of this tournament before it had ever started. Or how it’d left him too much time to check and keep checking the progress online in the meantime.

“Huh.” Mokuba let the lull sit for longer than necessary. “Well… I don’t know if you’ve checked out his opponents yet, but the guy from this morning gave him a run for his money. I don’t know how long his luck’ll hold out for him.”

If Jounouchi’s luck had an end, it would’ve run out a long, long time ago.

“Please. This morning he was fighting a Buster Blader deck. The finals will be anticlimactic in comparison.”

“Ah-hah. So you did look.” As if that was some kind of great revelation. “And you still waited!”

He tensed his jaw. “I wasn’t going to show up and have him accuse me of being some kind of bad omen if he goes and loses.”

“Since when has that stopped you?”

Mokuba was clearly smirking in the corner of his eye but he wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of acknowledging it.

He had reasons. He wasn’t going to acknowledge them right now, either.

“Seriously, though,” Mokuba broke him from his thoughts with an elbow, “I’m glad you’re going. Things with you guys haven’t always been―well, you know.”

“Yes,” he said stiffly, “I know.”

“But they’re a lot better.”

“That’s not saying much, is it?”

“Guess not.”

The space in the car was almost silent for a moment, while Mokuba was pretending to scroll over the face of his phone.

It could only last so long, though. “I still think he was flirting with you at your birthday last―”

“ _Mokuba_.”

“I’m just saying!”

“Are you _finished_?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

-

The arena was massive, but all the flare it had going lied in the form of overhead lights and ravenous crowds―more like an American football stadium than anything else, it had nothing on many other arenas abroad, much less any he’d had a hand in. Regardless, its crowd was just as anonymizing as any of them. Asking for last-minute VIP seating would’ve been well within the realm of possibility, but he wasn’t here to make a show of himself―he’d spent half his life doing that.

Besides, this was the perfect opportunity to incite Jounouchi’s patented dumbstruck face.

It turned out, he’d been right about the match being anticlimactic. Or, it should’ve been. Jounouchi had apparently absorbed the semi-final match into his being and let it multiply his ego by tenfold. It cost him a lot of life points, a lot of face, and many turns―and yet Seto could still picture him saying it was just for the crowd.

Of course, the crowd was full of easy-to-please fools who didn’t understand Duel Monsters meta―they were just here for the flashy game of monsters and spectacles and its sensational (and sweaty) players.

He did miss it.

The game, that is.

The encompassing lights and roaring must have numbed his brain into a trance-like state. Seto didn’t notice the people standing up around him at the end until one overenthusiastic man nearly dumped a drink into his lap.

-

Jounouchi was much less theatrical off the stage.

He spent the next hour or so floundering in a sea of people, and it was painful to watch: with his less-than-impressive English vocabulary he bounced between awkward, clipped interviews and cheesy picture- and autograph-taking with fans that ranged between cooing, doe-eyed children and lingering old women. Jounouchi seemed to take it all in stride, to his credit.

For a moment, Seto bemoaned feeling a surge of jealousy―it wasn’t as if Jounouchi’s part-time professional dueling career that rarely brought him outside of Japan took anything away from his own sensationalistic past. In fact, Seto quickly grew bored of crowds. So then, jealousy may not be what he was feeling, exactly…

Well, he had too much time to ruminate about it.

No one could say he couldn’t be patient.

“When did you get so popular?”

It had been difficult to contain himself until the crowd had dispersed and left Jounouchi with an empty corridor of short-lived solace, but the whole-body startle, nearly winding himself in a tailspin was entirely worth it. “ _Kaiba_ ― _Holy shit,_ ” he hissed, looking scandalized several times over, “your voice gives me the fuckin’ willies!” He blinked slowly as if his brain was just catching up. “How long have you been here?”

Seto only partially succeeded in holding back a smirk―that is to say, not at all. “I only made it for the finals,” he said. “I suppose some congratulations are in order… Not that it was particularly your best performance.”

“That’s…” He wasn’t sure what did it, but rather than being affronted, Jounouchi’s face broke out into a smile―so he decided not to prickle too much when his arm was slugged. “That’s not what I meant, but fuck you anyway! Admit it, I was great. It was a total blowout.”

“Absolutely not.” His familiar derisive tone brought out Jounouchi’s pursed lips and Seto had to wonder if he was aware of how childish it looked. “Maybe, if you hadn’t forgotten about your own cards on the field, you could’ve won three turns earlier.”

He could practically see the gears turning in Jounouchi’s brain, as he realized with some detail how much attention Seto had been paying. “Well…” He ran a hand through his damp-tipped hair. “Yeah, maybe. Whatever. What fun would that be? Gotta keep the crowd on their toes, right?”

The corner of Seto’s mouth quirked somewhere between smirking and something more natural, “Sure,” and Jounouchi couldn’t understand where the self-satisfied, “if you say so,” came from.

Seto watched him screw his brows together and shuffle on his heels. “Hah, hah. Kaiba, did you just come here to bust my chops, or what?”

“I do like watching you squirm.”

“Oh, so you _wanted_ me to lose.”

“I didn’t say that.” As if trying to figure something out, Jounouchi frowned absently and looked him up and down. Seto crossed his arms. “There was some novelty in watching you try to be your own PR team, though.”

“Hey, not everybody’s got the cash for private jets and… _people_ , okay? I do this for fun.”

Fun.

He visibly squirmed when Seto gave him a retaliation once-over. “Is being drenched in sweat part of the ‘fun’?”

When Jounouchi was already flushed and sweaty Seto almost wouldn’t notice the rising blush, if not for the tips of his ears changing color. There was a little thrill to that, alongside the hoarse, “God I hate you,” while Jounouchi leaned heavily into the wall. “California’s fucking hot, okay? Anyway, like you ever understood how to do stuff just for fun. What _do_ you do nowadays?” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I haven’t seen you in any tournaments for a long time.”

“I haven’t had the time.” At Jounouchi’s thoroughly unimpressed mock of a smile, he shrugged and said, “I’m not here to defend my work ethic to you.”

“Sounds like an excuse, but okay. Why _are_ you here?”

“To take you out for drinks.” At the slow return of Jounouchi’s scandalized look, he added, absently shifting his weight, “You just won an international tournament. What better occasion if not now?”

Half leaning against the wall and half standing, Jounouchi opened and closed his mouth like he’d lost the ability or the muscle control to speak. It almost played out in slow motion. Seto might have enjoyed it, if his skin wasn’t starting to itch something horrendous.

“Uh,” he drawled, finally, “wow. Okay.”

Seto sighed the tension out of his shoulders through his nose. “Eloquent.”

“I… Sh-Shut up.”

He wasn’t sure whether Jounouchi tripped over himself or if it was intentional, but Seto turned easily enough on his heel and he’d only fallen into step after a brisk shoulder-check.

“Is this you trying to be nice?”

“I’m not trying to be anything.”

“Did you have a stroke recently?”

“No.”

Jounouchi eyed him almost suspiciously. “Pity?”

Seto held his stare for a moment, before replying mildly, “I haven’t pitied you since high school.”

“God dammit.”

-

On the books, Kaiba Seto was someone who steeped his days in meticulous planning. Scheduling. Plotting, if necessary. Some people know better. Seto’s reprieve from all that was acting on impulses.

“So… how often do you do this sort of thing?”

“Do what?”

“Pick―Uhm, take people to bars.”

“Never.”

“Oh.”

Asking Jounouchi out was an impulse.

Not that he would have to know the difference. His going on about the tournament gave Seto plenty of time to find directions to a place he’d never been to. It hardly mattered as long as it wasn’t seedy and was in relative walking distance.

“How often do you drink?” Jounouchi had asked next, pressing his lips together before testing his own. Even in the dim lighting and the proceeding wet cough, Seto could’ve guessed the reverse must be “not much.”

“Occasionally,” he said, as Jounouchi wiped his mouth on his sleeve. During a second coughing fit, Seto droned, “You’re not dying, are you?”

“Gee, thanks. Not yet.” He tried to clear his throat and blink the water out of his eyes. “What _is_ this? Alcohol and piss water?”

“You ordered it. You don’t know? ” When Jounouchi hedged, the corner of his mouth quirked. “You don’t, do you? You sat down and ordered blind and hoped I wouldn’t notice.”

“No. No, no. That’s not―”

“If you don’t drink, why’d you agree to come here?”

“I do… sometimes,” Jounouchi mumbled, shifting to lean an elbow on the table and hold his cheek in his hand. “I don’t know―it seemed like a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. And I was right, wasn’t I? You said you don’t do this.”

Right.

Feeling itchy again, Seto offered no retort over a hum, gaze drifting away while he was taking another drink.

“So level with me.” He leaned into his peripheral, restlessly beginning to tap his foot under the table. “Why’d you ask me out? I mean, I thought you hated me… At least, you used to.”

Seto wished he’d had a few more drinks in him before he had to relent anything. He sighed heavily as if the question was an inconvenience. (It was a little bit more than that.) “I didn’t hate you.”

“Hah. You’re a fucking liar.”

“I’m _not_ ,” he said. “I thought you were impressively stupid, but I didn’t hate you.”

“You sure acted like you did!” Jounouchi eyed him with a mix of skepticism and curiosity. “So what’s different?”

“Nothing. You’re still just as stupid.”

“No, I mean―” Jounouchi slammed his hand on the table in protest and then leaned forward, glasses jingling idly with the vibration. “Asshole, you _know_ what I mean.”

Fighting his own restless tics, instead of tapping his finger on the table he found himself dragging his nails against the grain. And promptly curled them back into his palm. “I was angry,” he said, before he could technically be considered stalling. “And I took it out on anyone I could. You were an easy target.” And since it beared repeating, he said again, “I don’t hate you.”

That was the short answer, anyway.

It wasn’t any particularly deep admittance, or stretch of the imagination (they were here, weren't they?), but Jounouchi still watched him and said nothing for longer than was comfortable. Eventually his grin crept back into place, a little softer this time. “Were? You make it sound like you still don’t pick on me. It’s like your favorite sport or something.”

Seto scoffed. But it was a simple thing to ease back into his drink and counter, “You make it sound like you don’t do the same thing.”

“Maybe…” he mumbled. “Yeah. But it’s more fun when there’s no bite to it.”

“If you accuse me of going soft on you, you’ll regret it.”

“Yeah, right.” Jounouchi snorted, and then began to tap his fingers on the table as if they were testing the sounds it would make. “Then again, I don’t mind a little bite, sometimes.”

Seto wasn’t sure exactly what he meant by that, but considering he followed it up by swinging back half of the drink he’d forgotten he hated, and proceed to make a face like he’d swallowed a lemon whole, he was sure it boiled down to “too much nervous energy”.

“Your taste in alcohol says otherwise.”

“Fuck you,” he croaked, “and help me out here.”

-

Once Jounouchi did find something he liked, he downed it like he felt the need to catch up.

It wasn’t wholly a competitive thing or a nervous thing, but it had to be a little of both. Jounouchi had a lot of nervous tics. Fussing with his mop of hair. Licking his lips. Fidgeting with things incessantly. Now, at least, instead of rambling without direction, he was leaning forward on his elbows and speaking coherently, animated in a way that Seto would expect was more reserved for his friends.

It was almost comfortable, but Seto couldn’t yet work the knots out of his neck. Occasionally he found himself watching the tics and forgetting to listen. Jounouchi was too easily distracted to notice.

“Oh, yeah,” he was halfway through his second drink and mostly through a story about his little sister's short but colorful career history, which included a brief stint in Duel Monsters, “so, Mai. You remember her, right?” Seto drew his brows together as if that was a stupid question, because it was, and Jounouchi went on. “Right. Well, she settled down in Domino a year or two ago. We’re good friends. She’s kinda like the overbearing older sister I never had. But since Shizuka finished high school, she’s more like the bad influence my little sister never had, you know?”

“I can only imagine,” Seto said dully. Why were they talking about Mai? “Where is this going?”

He threw his arms in the air, “She’s fuckin’ driving me nuts! Dragging my sister out to clubs and parties and shit―and now Shizuka’s got a _boyfriend,_ and―” they came back down, “I don’t know, just, _please_ tell me Mokuba’s giving you ulcers, too.”

What was for a moment, mild amusement, turned sour as Seto stated, “Not ulcers, migraines. And I’m almost sure he’s doing it on purpose.”

“ _Yes_.”

“Don’t look _relieved_ ,” he spat and Jounouchi laughed. “It’s been two boyfriends. And one girlfriend, all in the last six months.”

Seto was relatively satisfied with the effect of Jounouchi choking on his drink. “Mokuba, really? Fuck. _Why_ shouldn’t I be relieved?”

“And he has the gall not to talk to me about any of it, turn around and act like he knows everything.”

“Of course he does! 16-year-olds think they know everything, right?” He smirked. “Guess he takes after you, after all.” Seto’s brow twitched. Before he could bite back, Jounouchi went on. “But not really, though. You never did that. Or… I’ve never _seen_ you date anyone. Ever.”

It took him a moment to realize that was more of a question than a statement―as Jounouchi’s stare dragged on for too long. He paused and then shrugged almost imperceptibly. “I’ve never been interested.”

“In dating, or…” Jounouchi lingered on the rim of his glass, searching for words, “people?”

“Either.”

“Ever?”

Seto’s lips thinned as he contemplated a response, but as Jounouchi continued to watch him he started to feel his tics creeping up on him. “Why?”

“I’m… curious, that’s all.”

“I don’t have anything interesting to tell.” He redirected in an effort to shed the attention, “Not avoiding talking about yourself, are you?” even though he was fairly sure he wanted to know nothing about it.

“Uh… No. Just… not much to say, either,” Jounouchi said, scratching the back of his head. “Never been much for dating. Honda’s the hopeless romantic. He thinks I’m cynical. I’m just cut out for more… casual stuff.”

“Casual?” Seto repeated, before he thought better of it. Maybe it was time to cut back on the drinks. Or maybe he needed to be _much_ more drunk before he had this kind of conversation with Jounouchi, because he threw in a wink instead of answering and a lull of silence followed Seto’s intense restraint to sigh with his entire body.

Fortunately, Jounouchi ended up calling the waitress over to interrupt whatever that moment was.

Unfortunately, one of the knots in his neck wound harder, until it eventually materialized in human form and Seto had to make the magnanimous decision not to say a thing, about the waitress’s lingering or giggling, nor Jounouchi’s bad English or―god forbid―that fucking wink on the third encounter that twisted something deep in his chest.

When they made eye contact, Jounouchi almost spat his drink out in a bubble of laughter. “What’s―What’s the matter, Kaiba?”

“You make me sick," he grumbled.

“Hey―” his offense lost out to a shit-eating grin, “I had to watch girls try to flirt with you all through high school―you know, before you terrified ‘em properly. This is payback.”

He felt his eye twitch a little. “Payback would suggest you planned that deliberately to annoy me.”

“Who, _me?_ Deliberately annoy you? No way.” He smiled coyly and Seto didn’t give him the satisfaction of doing more than clicking his tongue. Jounouchi sighed and fell back into the seat. “So what gets you more, Kaiba, if I did it on purpose or not? I mean… she’s nice-looking, sure, but―not really my type. I’m more of a leg guy, you know?”

“ _No_ , I don’t want to―” Seto tried to steel himself and sighed through his nostrils as the knot wound tighter. Jounouchi gazed in confusion as he slammed down the rest of his drink, then the glass onto the table, before waving down a passing waitress.

She stopped on her heel and smiled easily enough, “Ready for another?”

“Yes,” he said, the alcohol swam in his head and clutched onto his voice a little, “and after that please kill me.”

Jounouchi must’ve understood enough; he sputtered out a protest and Seto almost didn’t hear the waitress’s quippy, “Sorry, sir, we don’t offer that service here.”

“I’ll tip extra.”

“Hey!” As the waitress slipped away from them, he spared a scathing glance back at Jounouchi, to no effect―he didn’t recoil at all, he was even _shaking_ with bottled laughter. “Kaiba. Kaiba. Listen…”

“ _What?_ ”

“H-How drunk are you?”

He ignored the buzzing in his head when he insisted, “I’m not drunk.”

“You so are.”

“No more than you.”

“I can at least tell when someone’s trying to flirt with me!” Seto drew his brows together while Jounouchi was sliding back in his seat, dipping his head forward and briefly obscuring his splitting grin with a tumble of hair. “Dammit, and I thought I was being obvious.”

“What are you talking about?” Seto snapped, as a supremely, uncomfortably warm feeling started to swarm in his stomach.

 _Flirt?_ No. _When?_ He was so busy trying to be cute with the waitress that apparently wasn’t even his “type”―

Oh.

His brain raced to catch up faster than he could process it―no, he couldn’t have missed something obvious like that, there must be a mistake―at least not before Jounouchi got over his fucking spasming and flipped his hair out of his face. “And the best part is, _you_ asked _me_ out!”

“I―” Seto pressed his lips in a thin line and for a moment wished for, perhaps, a sharp instrument to kick-start his nervous system back up. “ _This is not a date_.”

“How is it not a date?”

“A _date_ involves premeditation and an agreement by both parties―”

“ _Premeditation?_ Wow, romantic!”

“Who ever said I was romantic?” he spat.

“Nobody, I guess,” Jounouchi snickered, folding his arms across the table and Seto could hear him tapping his foot under the table again. “I mean, that’s fine. I don’t got a romantic bone in my body.” There was a certain quirk to Jounouchi’s lip when something especially bad was coming, and as much as Seto was still reeling, he was still at enough mental capacity to be ready for, “But, you know what I _do_ have―”

Seto exhaled sharply, “Don’t.”

“Oh, come on―”

“Shut up.” Seto rested his arms on the table and drug a hand over his face. Had the air in here been this heavy the entire time? His bangs felt damp.

He heard Jounouchi lean forward and taunt, “You like me,” and he couldn’t decide whether he should be pissed or mortified. Possibly, both. Or maybe neither. Awash in a wave of emotions he refused to name, he ignored Jounouchi lightly kicking his shoe from under the table. “I’m right, right? Or else you wouldn’t have asked me out.”

Right.

Because he never did this. He distinctly remembered using the word “never.” Why would he say that?

He wondered if Jounouchi would have the hindsight to look back and decode things he’d said without thinking.

“This still isn’t a date.”

“Then what is it?”

Seto tried to think of a suitable explanation that wouldn’t wasn’t really saying anything, and therefore not losing him any more face. Because his face was burning at the edges as it was. “An experiment.”

“An experiment,” Jounouchi mumbled, furrowing his brow tentatively. “What kind of experiment?”

An impulse. Brought on by a desire to seek Jounouchi out with no clear end goal.

“The kind,” he said, considering, “with too many variables.”

“Okay,” Jounouchi said at length, drumming his fingers again. He continued to do so, absently, while he flickered glances between Seto and his own empty glass. “You, uh, reached any conclusions yet?”

He was trying. What had they settled? That Seto “liked” him, that was it, and that was from his end. Entirely unhelpful. 

It was a bit jarring, a moment later, to consider he’d missed anything when Jounouchi’s next line of flirting was toeing past his pant leg under the table. Bold. Theoretically, officially, it should have been grating with that abrasive sneaker material.

Unofficially, his pulse jumped.

Okay. He got it. Jounouchi was trying to make himself clear.

The next move was his, then.

They had, apparently, drifted a bit closer than necessary, considering that they both flinched back into their seats when the waitress suddenly showed up with his drink. To varying degrees. Seto could at least look her in the eyes when she asked, “Anything else?”

He cleared his throat. “Just the check.”

“I’ll be right back.”

Jounouchi watched the brief exchange with a crinkle in his brow, but Seto didn’t offer him a translation, instead letting him fester quietly while watching the waitress come back with the bill and leave with a card and evaluating for himself.

If Jounouchi ever asked, why, why everything, he wasn’t sure what he would have to say.

It was another impulse. A series of impulses.

You didn’t need to think about impulses.

The alcohol was a good choice. Even in hindsight.

-

Jounouchi’s feet wavered less than his bluster―dipping as he stalled at the table like he didn’t believe what was going on, and then spiking in an abrupt kiss after they stepped outside of the bar.

Dry-lipped, brisk, and stiff (not by no fault of his own), by most standards it must have been unremarkable but the contact left him a little unsteady, with a dizzying mix of racing thoughts and warmth. Jounouchi continued this little series of his own experiments all the way to the hotel, and each time it got easier to drown out the anxiety bubbling under his skin.

The second time, he kissed back.

The third time, Jounouchi’s tongue grazed the corner of his mouth.

The fourth time, he parted his lips.

The fifth time, he kissed Jounouchi. He couldn’t tell what was the buzzing from the alcohol and what wasn’t anymore, but he didn’t care. Outside the hotel room, Seto threaded his fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, in a deliberate move to angle his face that was ruined immediately as Jounouchi fisted his hands in the lapels of his button-up and pulled, sealing their lips together until they backed into the door.

It was getting harder to breathe, as a cloying heat washed over, from head to toe, but he hadn’t lost so much grip on his composure to be moaning into his mouth and fumbling with the room key―long enough that Seto had to wonder if they were even at the right one. He couldn’t stop himself from cracking a smile―Jounouchi even stopped aimlessly smacking the key card against the wall to look at him like he’d grown a head.

“What?”

“Try―” his voice teetered on laughing, “Try to keep it together, will you?”

Jounouchi tried to pull a sour face, failed, and exhaled through his nose while his lips quivered in a bout of indecision. “You are the fucking worst.” He finally managed to slide the card through the slot and open the door, without tripping backwards. Quite a feat.

Actually, Seto was not happy to be the one who nearly tripped over his own legs, but it was entirely Jounouchi’s fault for either being impatient or spiteful, letting the door shut itself while he pulled Seto inside and pushed him over the foot of the bed in a whirlwind. His vision actually blurred, though he still had the wherewithal to brace himself mostly upright before Jounouchi climbed over his body and tried to sink him back into a kiss.

Or he did until a hand snaked up his shirt and pinched him in the side.

Fuck, it was so _stupid_ , but his body flinched on instinct and he choked down a yelp so hard that his breath sputtered on the impact with the bed―which had more to do with Jounouchi’s weight on him than the mattress.

He blinked up in a flurry while Jounouchi was shaking with barely-contained laughter, “What was _that_ noise?” in his ear and it burned every single one of Seto’s nerves that he was too flustered to come up with an intelligent retort. He did, however, hook his legs around Jounouchi’s waist before he could pull himself up and he collapsed into his elbows. “F―”

His hair tumbled into Seto’s face, slightly damp and tickling his nose, as a huff of hot breath washed over his face. Pleasant and unpleasant at the same time, as something unfamiliar crawled and skated around his insides. He would spend more attention on controlling his breathing. That and the great enjoyment of watching Jounouchi’s smirk putter out in between lacing a hand through his sweaty nest of hair until he found a good grip, and then sunk his teeth into his neck. The breathless noise Jounouchi shook with was worth more than just payback.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“Fuck, he mumbled, “shut up,” even while melting into his touch. Jounouchi’s breath huffed and hitched while he left a variety of marks trailing across his neck, lingering and applying more pressure when he started to squirm with his hips. A bite at the pulse in his neck squeezed out a moan that vibrated against his lips.

He wanted to be drunk on these noises. But there was no time to hold onto the feeling, as Jounouchi finally broke out of his daze and bent in his grip―but not out of it―to sink his tongue back into his mouth. His face was almost blotchy with redness, Seto might even call it endearing―or something―or maybe just self-satisfaction while he was mostly, aimlessly and blindly, riding the adrenaline rush.

Jounouchi’s pulse beat madly, but still, if they could sync maybe his own could slow down and the world would stop spinning.

He was the one feeling dazed when Jounouchi suddenly broke away, rising up from his elbows like he’d had an epiphany. “Fuck,” he heaved. “Fuck, I don’t have any condoms.” He licked his lips unnecessarily. “Are you… uh…”

Seto’s brain emitted white noise instead of following while he trailed off. “What?”

“When’s the last time you…”

“ _What?_ ”

“...Had sex.”

Unable to fathom why Jounouchi was being coy _now_ , of all times, he huffed. “Never.”

His eyes blinked slowly. The cogs must have stopped turning. “Really?”

Seto sighed with draining patience. “ _Yes_. Is that a problem?”

“What? N-No…” He continued to gape, forming his mouth around a word that didn’t come out, like he was trying to digest this, as if it was a development when it wasn’t so much of a secret as something Seto just didn’t talk about. He was rolling his eyes by the time Jounouchi launched into a ramble. “Uh, yeah. My last time was… it was… like, three months ago. Four? No, it was longer than that… Maybe six. It was before your birthday.”

“Jounouchi.”

“I… don’t know if that really counts, though―”

“Jounouchi,” he growled, “shut up,” and gripped his hair a little tighter to throw his attention back from whatever strip of wallpaper it’d wandered off to. “I don’t want to know.”

“Agh! Okay, fuck.”

If they talked any more about this, Seto was almost sure to be completely turned off of the whole thing. He pulled Jounouchi back down to where they’d left off, he wasn’t going to spend any more time thinking about pointless things.

It lasted for a few more moments, but the hesitance was palpable. When Jounouchi broke away again he glared daggers. “Uh, wait. Maybe we shouldn’t do this.”

He shouldn’t have enough air to exhale as forcefully as he did, but he did. “Excuse me?”

“We’re drunk.”

Seto blinked at him incredulously. “Wh―We’ve _been_ drunk, you moron.”

“Yeah, but… we…” He ran a hand through his hair. It slumped back in his face. “I just―I don’t want you to wake up tomorrow morning and remember we fucked when we were fuckin’ wasted and regret it. What am I supposed to do with that?”

“I don’t have time for regrets,” he snapped, and Jounouchi looked at him like that statement didn’t make any sense. “I made the conscious decision to get drunk with you.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t plan this, did you?”

No. Not exactly.

He hadn’t known he’d wanted this. 

“So what?”

“So―So maybe we should… I don’t know, sleep on it.”

“This is ridiculous,” he snapped, trying to bottle his temper. “You said earlier that you only have casual relationships. Are you going to tell me you’ve never gotten drunk and slept with someone before?”

Jounouchi scoffed, with something like a laugh behind it, and said, “There’s nothing casual about you, Kaiba.”

The headiness had cooled, and he bore up into Jounouchi’s eyes, but he couldn’t understand where this was coming from. Maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe he shouldn’t care.

“Why are we here, then?”

Whatever it was, Jounouchi didn’t want this.

“I…”

He closed his eyes. “Get off of me.”

They had been slowly unraveling, pulling away from each other, so now Seto merely pushed him off until he groaned and rolled onto his back. Everything felt dizzier than it had any right to be when he sat up over the edge of the bed. He only took enough time to catch his breath to a passable capacity, with every intention of walking out whether his legs wanted to wobble or not.

“Kaiba! Where are you going?”

Catching the table at the doorside to steady himself, Seto happened upon a half-used pack of cigarettes―cheap, Japanese cigarettes he hadn’t seen since high school―and decided, on one last impulse, to take them.

“Have fun at your next tournament.”

He slammed the door behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> There are a lot of recipes for a hot mess with Seto and Jounouchi but when you ask someone on an ambiguous date, get drunk, and then no one knows how to communicate it's... well, something.


End file.
